|
|
This is a month that I plan to forget. In only a few weeks' time, life has thrown me from one emotional wall to another with all the brutality of a hateful rage. I feel broken.
It began on a high note. My sister-in-law in town with her young son, I was hostess to a party on her behalf; she's a direct-seller, like I am. It was great to have her, especially considering how far away she lives, but during the visit I experienced incredible mood fluctuations and fatigue. Only a day after she returned home, I discovered the reason -- again, we were pregnant.
Rather than elation, we were feeling cautiously optimistic. On one hand, I hoped that this was merely confirmation that, indeed, a single miscarriage is no cause for great worry. On the other hand, I was immediately frozen in my tracks, fearful of every possible wrong move that I might make. I had been working at the children's hospital during the first few weeks before I knew that I was pregnant, and I had experienced extreme fatigue and some pelvic discomfort while there. I was glad now that it just happened to work out that I was at home this month, doing my little beauty consulting business.
In addition to the party for my sister-in-law, I later held another similar gathering for cookware, and I felt a new comraderie with the women in attendance, most of whom have children. I did not, however, make an announcement of my condition to this group. While we discussed wanting to keep this pregnancy quiet, Jim was unable to keep from telling his family and from there, I felt free to tell mine.
Once I found out the good news, I quickly cancelled my attendance as a counselor at a camp for children with HIV. I was fearful that the busy outdoor activities might be the last thing that I needed, and there was the big question -- what if "something" happened while I was away at camp? I felt compelled to explain to the other staff my reason for cancelling, so eventually word went around as it usually does. It was shortly afterward that my RE's nurse informed me that my follow-up HCG tests were not high enough.
I now know more about HCG tests than I care to. Most women probably don't even know that's what a pregnancy test is called. I not only now know that fact, but also the appropriate levels at certain stages, exactly what HCG is and where it comes from, and which color of "top" it is at the lab. The nurse was not very clear in her explanation when I inquired, but the Internet had it all. What I learned was that chances were good that my baby was dying, and that I would miscarry soon.
Several trips to the clinic and HCG's later, that is exactly what occurred. Unfortunately, it again happened on a Sunday, only this time I was dealing with a fertility specialist so I had hopes that maybe something could be done. Nothing could be done. I even asked if I should retain the dispelled remains, as I had read (on the Internet) could be done. The nurse on call stated that there was no need to do so. All we could do was wait until Monday, and then come in for a follow-up.
We cried and talked and held each other. The atmosphere in our home was quite different, however, from the first time I miscarried. In addition to having our naivete dashed the first time, we had known for a few weeks now that this might happen because of the dwindling levels of HCG. I think that even for the few days before the first sad report from the nurse, neither of us were strongly holding hope for this pregnancy.
While our lack of faith in this working is what has helped us through the inevitable end, by protecting our hearts from the incredible shock of the first time, I am even more deeply saddened by this very fact. To never again feel that incredible bliss, my head in the clouds, over a pregnancy -- the one thing that I have wanted more than anything else in my entire life -- is this what I am doomed to? What on earth could be wrong with me?
© Tracy Morris
_2.jpg)
